


Aurum Infinitum

by akaparalian



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Episode Remix, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 20:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Alec is lucky: the first color he ever sees is bright, brilliant gold.





	Aurum Infinitum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taupefox59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/gifts).



> Hooray, happy holidays, Taupefox59! I hope you like your gift! <3
> 
> This is an idea that I've had bouncing around in my head since I first watched the show, and this event finally gave me the perfect excuse to dig into it. I hope it turned out well! I love soulmate AUs so much, and yet I haven't really written them all that much in the past, so this was really fun for me.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Alec is lucky: the first color he ever sees is bright, brilliant gold. 

The party is continuing all around him, Downworlders of all stripes and creeds moving and talking and dancing, the music thumping, the lights low. Alec doesn’t notice any of it. His world has narrowed completely. There is absolutely nothing, _nothing,_ except the gold — beautiful golden eyes, with pupils like a cat’s. The color is... well, he has no words to describe it, no way to even come close. It’s _alive,_ shifting and shimmering even as he watches, hints of white and orange catching in the low light. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath in, as though he’d been drowning, and it’s only then that he realizes that Jace has been saying his name, has grabbed his shoulder and shaken him. 

“Alec, what the hell?” Jace demands, and Alec rips his eyes away. 

Jace, he finds, is golden too — his hair, at least. But it’s different; paler, less vivid, less… just less. 

“Uh,” he says, which is not exactly the finest or wisest thing he’s ever come up with, but, well, given the circumstances, he thinks he can be excused. 

“Alec?” asks a different voice, and like a magnet Alec’s gaze snaps back to… their target. Oh, God. _This,_ Alec realizes, is Magnus Bane. 

“That’s me,” he chokes, batting 0 for 2 on saying things that don’t make him sound like an idiot. Now that he’s looking at them again, he _cannot_ tear his gaze away from Magnus’ beautiful golden eyes. Worse, he can’t even bring himself to want to. 

“What a lovely name,” Bane says smoothly, taking a step forward. He’s putting up a good front, but Alec’s a smart guy; there’s something about him that’s trembling just slightly, tucked away beneath the surface. The world has narrowed again, to just the two of them, just Alec and the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who has incredible eyes, who has brought Alec color, who —

Who, evidently, is his soulmate. 

This had not exactly been a part of the original plan. 

—

Alec has never minded not seeing color. He and most everyone he knows dress all in black anyway, and surely the Institute can’t be _that_ impressive; the interior is mostly wood, stone, and glass. There are more important things, he’s always thought, than shade and hue — and _much_ more important things than daydreaming about meeting his soulmate, about color dripping into his world, about true love. He can count on one hand the number of Shadowhunters he knows who can see color, anyway. Their lifestyle doesn’t exactly lend itself well to storybook romance. 

His parents, after all, are just as colorblind as him, and their lives are fine. Hodge can’t see color, and _he’s_ okay. Jace, Izzy — they’re in the same boat, too. What does he need with color? What will he _ever_ need with it? His world functions just fine in black and white. 

—

“Okay, _what_ is going on?” 

Jace sounds absolutely pissed, once again ripping Alec’s attention away from Bane, coming to stand between them, hackles up. Some distant corner of Alec’s mind — a tiny bit of it that’s neither blank nor buzzing with something new and electric, tracking traces of yellow-orange-white-gold as they start to spread around the room and truly populate his vision — manages to take note of the fact that honestly, he’s sort of surprised his parabatai can’t somehow tell what’s just happened. 

The thought crashes over him as though a bucket of ice water has just been dumped on his head. How on earth is he supposed to explain this? He stares at Jace, terrified, and no words come out of his mouth. His gaze moves to Izzy, skipping over the Mundane, but his sister is just looking at him with concern and caution and something calculating warring in her face, and he can’t think of what to say to her, either. He looks down at the ground, or at least he tries to; unbidden, his eyes creep up every inch of Magnus Bane, standing there just inside Alec’s personal space, from his fancy leather shoes to the tips of his artfully spiked hair. 

“You,” he tries, then chokes on his own tongue a bit. Bane just looks amused. 

“Me,” he says. “Apparently.”

Alec flushes, but that, evidently, is what it takes to snap him out of his haze, thank God. “You — we — we should — do you have a safe place?” he asks, because there’s an assassin dead at his feet, an assassin that _he_ just shot, and probably none of them are safe here, if Valentine’s found them. “Or, can you — can you come with us? To the Institute?”

Bane quirks a small smile at him; Alec’s not sure what part of what he just said is amusing, but it doesn’t seem like a cruel sort of smile, so he tries not to let himself get worked up about it.

“I prefer the former option,” Bane murmurs, sounding a bit sardonic and dry. “I’m afraid I’d rather avoid Nephilim at the moment — present company excluded, of course.”

Right. That makes sense. Valentine, after all. And — well — Alec hasn’t quite had time yet to process the fact that his soulmate is a _Downworlder_ , though he’s sure that’s a panic attack or seven just waiting to happen, but at any rate it makes some level of sense that the Institute wouldn’t be the most comfortable place for someone like Bane. They don’t exactly… put a lot of effort into making it a comfortable, accessible place for non-Shadowhunters. Should that bother him more, since he’s now bound to a non-Shadowhunter? Will it, given time?

Alec shakes his head, desperately trying to clear his thoughts. “Okay,” he says quietly, and meets Bane’s eyes again, feeling his entire body shiver, feeling that beautiful gold color all but swallow him up. “Uh, we can go to your place, then. If you don’t — if you don’t mind.”

“Hold on a minute,” Jace says, choosing this moment to butt in again. He still sounds incredibly angry, and confused, and _lost_ , and it makes the rune on Alec’s hip buzz harshly. “We’re not going _anywhere_ without —”

“Jace,” Alec cuts in, tearing his gaze away from Bane again to pin his parabatai with a stare instead. “He’s my soulmate.”

Jace’s mouth drops open. Clary, who’s been mostly silent in this whole exchange, lets out a soft gasp. Isabelle just looks like some long-held suspicion has been confirmed; when Alec glances at her instinctually, seeking support, her eyes are soft and diamond-hard at the same time, and he knows she’s on his side, just like always.

No one seems inclined to actually say anything, and the longer they stay here, in this club, with pulsing music and dark, colorful lighting and the press of bodies all around, with his parabatai staring at him like he’s suddenly become a stranger and his fucking soulmate — his very male, very _warlock_ soulmate — standing too close and too far away all at once, the more tension creeps up Alec’s spine.

“Can we go?” he snaps, and it spurs Izzy into motion; she grabs Clary, who grabs Jace, and Bane, expression unreadable, waves a portal into existence behind them, then steps through it without a word.

Alec follows quickly, not wanting to lose him, almost forgetting about everyone else as he trips as fast as possible through the purple haze, not even caring what he finds on the other side.

—

Portal travel isn’t exactly comfortable at the best of times, and Alec’s already feeling pretty shaken up at the moment, so at first, that’s what he attributes the sensory overload on the other side of the portal to.

Then, as he stumbles a little and regains his balance, his bow still gripped tightly in his fist, he recognizes the shouts and cries of battle, and realizes that there is a lot more going on here than he bargained for.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bane breathes, beside him, and an instinct Alec can barely stand to think about has him stepping protectively in front of his soulmate; in his periphery, Jace and Isabelle have both dropped immediately into fighting stances, and even Clary looks like she has her wits about her, her shoulders set in a defensive line. 

“It’s the Circle,” Jace says shortly. “Has to be.”

“Split up,” Alec responds, by way of agreement, but he doesn’t follow his own command, at least not exactly. He lets Jace and Izzy and Clary peel away, but he stays with Bane, completely unwilling to leave him. 

“Bane,” he starts, but he’s cut off before he can say anything else with a finger held up to his lips, shushing him.

“Magnus,” Bane says, smiling at him for just a split second despite the circumstances. “If we’re soulmates, than I think we should be on a first-name basis. Don’t you agree, Alexander?”

Alec blinks, flushing. That’s — fair enough, he supposes. This whole situation has spun completely out of his control so _fast_. He shakes it off as best he can, turning back to strategy, which he’s more than familiar with. “Magnus, then. Where — where’s the most important, defensible place in this lair? We should start gathering people up and sending them there, and then establish a perimeter around it if we can.”

“Good idea,” Magnus says, his eyes flashing. “My office. My wards are down, somehow, but my defenses are strongest there. Come on.” And just like that, he turns and walks away, not hesitating or waiting to see if Alec’s following him. 

The loft is full of the sounds of fighting — Alec catches a snatch of a yell that sounds like Clary, but she doesn’t sound like she’s in pain so much as victorious, so hopefully that’s fine; he doesn’t stop to check — and there are so many rooms and hallways flashing by him that Alec is having trouble keeping track, but he follows Magnus, who of course seems to know _exactly_ where he’s going. It is _his_ lair, after all.

They step into what looks to be a sitting room, and Magnus freezes suddenly in the doorway, gesturing quickly for Alec to stay out of sight. Alec isn’t sure why, at first, until he sees the Circle member, rune obvious on his neck even under long blond hair, who’s standing over a body on the other side of the room. Alec melts back into the shadows even as he nocks an arrow; better to keep the element of surprise for as long as they can.

“My office is just there,” Magnus breathes, only barely loud enough for Alec to catch from behind him. He nods very slightly in the direction of a doorway branching off from the main room, but before he can do or say anything else, the Circle member straightens up, turns, and freezes at the sight of him.

“Well, well,” he says, and even if he weren’t so obviously a member of the Circle, Alec would have hated him immediately based on his voice alone. He sounds smug, and arrogant, and absolutely certain that Magnus will go down just as easily as whatever poor bastard he’d been standing over when they got here. “Magnus Bane himself.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, but he does knock over a bookshelf between himself and the Circle member. It creates a little bit of a barrier, but more importantly, Alec notices, it blocks off the entrance to the office. The circle member doesn’t seem to notice, though; he just steps forward casually. 

“Your magic’s strong, warlock,” he says, smirking, his grip on his seraph blade almost insouciant. “Much stronger than that horned weakling I killed this morning.”

Alec frowns, wracking his brain to try and remember if he’d heard any references to a warlock death reported this morning, if there’s any way they might be able to identify the victim or any evidence that the Institute was at all aware that the Circle has been killing warlocks in the city all fucking day, apparently. Magnus, though, seems to already know _exactly_ what’s going on here.

“Elias,” he breathes, and when Alec spares a glance over at him the pain on his face is obvious. So not even just some random warlock, then, but someone Magnus knows. Knew. People in the High Warlock’s inner circle are being killed.

Magnus sends a gust of magic at the Circle member, which he neatly ducks under; he comes up out of his crouch already smirking again, and Alec, still just out of sight, trains his bow directly on the man’s throat, ready to shoot the instant he stops giving out useful information.

“That was his name,” the man agrees, grinning, circling around Magnus a little. “Lucky for us, he sold you out. Before I took his warlock mark.” He adds the last thing with a smug little jerk of his eyebrows, and that’s even worse than the news that Magnus had been betrayed by one of his own. The casual cruelty of it has Alec wincing, his grip tightening.

The Circle member lashes out suddenly, seraph blade flashing, but Magnus, palms aglow with blue fire, slips sideways to avoid it, the pair of them still circling around each other, occasionally lashing out and then falling back into a stalemate.

“Cat’s eyes,” the man drawls, staring across at Magnus, his expression slowly twisting out of a smarmy smirk and into something much more harsh and cruel. “Be a nice addition to my collection.”

It takes a moment for the words to process, just a split second in which Alec sees Magnus’ beautiful golden eyes flash for the first time in his memory, less than an hour ago. So little time, and already the instant he realizes exactly what the Circle member is saying, he no longer cares if the man might give up any more information, or whether or not Magnus can take him down on his own, which he almost certainly can. The arrow is flying before Alec even thinks about it.

It goes straight through the man’s throat, thankfully preventing him from saying any _other_ things that Alec might have to kill him for. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

There’s a beat of silence, and then a little bit of tension bleeds out of Magnus’ shoulders, and he takes a few steps and leans over to examine the corpse.

“Well done,” he says. He looks over his shoulder at Alec as he says it, and there’s an odd gleam to his eyes that wasn’t there a few moments ago.

Alec’s brain is basically turned off right now, as he stares down at his arrow sticking out of a fellow Shadowhunter’s throat. Circle member or no — and Alec has no doubts at all that the man deserved to die — it’s not a sight he’s precisely used to. He’s not thinking about what he’s saying at all, which is probably why what comes out of his mouth is, “More like medium rare.”

He freezes immediately afterward, more than a little horrified with himself, or at least with his subconscious — this is _very much_ not the time for stupid puns. Magnus, though, looks shocked and a little delighted. 

“Oh,” Alec stammers, before Magnus gets a chance to say anything, because there’s already a tiny little grin fighting to take over his face and good God that’s not what they need to be focusing on right now, no matter _what_ warm feeling is creeping through the pit of his stomach at the idea that he put that look there. “Uh, we should really… you know… probably get…” He gestures towards the entrance to the office, now secured, and the rest of the lair, and then lets his hand fall limply to his side.

“Right,” Magnus says, but he’s still grinning a little. “We should join the party.”

“Right,” Alec agrees, and takes the excuse to all but run away. 

—

“Well,” Jace says about an hour later. “I guess that’s taken care of.”

They’ve gathered all of the Circle members — either dead or very, very thoroughly restrained — in Magnus’ living room. Standing around staring down at them is a bit morbid, and Alec turns away, only to be met with Magnus staring at him instead.

“You and I should talk,” he says. His voice is quiet, and his tone subdued enough that the words are clearly meant for Alec alone, which of course means that everyone else is none-to-subtly eavesdropping.

“I…” Alec says, hesitating for just a moment. “We need to get back to the Institute. We have to report this attack, and the presence of Circle members. They’re getting bolder if they’ll just come after the High Warlock like this.”

“What about my memories?” Clary interjects, frowning. Alec shoots her a glare — people have _died_ tonight, they have bigger fish to fry, and she’s already on his last nerve _anyway,_ and can’t she see that he and Magnus are trying to have a semi-private conversation, here? — but before he can say anything, Magnus holds up a placating hand.

“I’m going to do all I can to help you with that, Clary, I promise,” he says reassuringly. “But not tonight. I’m going to have to move my lair, and up security again, and try and check in with the rest of my people, and…” 

Clary takes a look around the destroyed lair and nods slowly, looking a little chastised. “Well… we’ll come back later, then.”

Magnus smiles at her, but then his eyes slide across to Alec and his expression deepens a little. The smile shrinks, but reaches his eyes more, though there’s something a little bit reserved lurking just below the surface. 

“I think Alexander and I have a few things to discuss as well,” he says, and Alec feels the strangest urge to shiver at the way Magnus’ voice curls around his full name — a full name that’s kind of always irritated him, but now sounds sweet and smooth as honey. 

“Right,” Alec says a bit gruffly, and keeps his eyes slightly downcast to avoid either having to make eye contact with Magnus or seeing whatever expression of mischievous joy Izzy’s face is doubtless contorting itself into at the moment. “I’ll come by tomorrow, and we can talk — and,” he adds, when Clary opens her mouth in his periphery and looks like she’s about to protest, “make arrangements to get the Mundane her memories back.”

“All right,” Magnus says, his voice going just a little bit soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander.”

After everything, the walk out of Magnus’ lair is almost anticlimactic. Alec leads the way, not wanting to even have the _ability_ to look back over his shoulder, not wanting to have to admit to himself that he wants to, and everyone else follows more or less quietly behind. They’re almost halfway home before he stops them, drawing everyone around him with a quick gesture.

“Look,” he says, quietly but intensely. “I know this goes without saying for most of you” — he takes the opportunity to shoot Clary a glare, which she returns — “but no one at the Institute can know fucking anything about — about me and Magnus. Not even Hodge. Not _anyone_.”

“Of course,” Izzy says reassuringly.

“We’ve got your back, Alec,” Jace adds, and claps a hand onto Alec’s shoulder reassuringly. It’s funny; earlier today, even, that contact might have made him shiver a little. Right now, he almost feels distracted. 

Even Clary nods, though, and mutters something about knowing how to keep a secret, and the rest of the way home, no one speaks. They give a heavily sanitized version of their mission report, and no one really says much of anything then, either, except to provide descriptions of Circle members or explain away why they haven’t got Clary’s memories back yet. Alec goes back to his room and lays on the bed and counts all the colors that he can now make out on the ceiling, and when he falls asleep, he dreams in gold.

—

“It’s good to see you,” Magnus says the next day, as he leads Alec through a lair that’s almost unrecognizable when it’s not half-destroyed and full of Circle members. “I was — and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this — _almost_ afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Alec doesn’t blame him at all for saying it; he had, after all, almost talked himself out of it. Admitting to that doesn’t seem like the best idea at the moment, though. He follows Magnus wordlessly to a living room that no longer contains a pile of Circle members and accepts the drink that’s pressed into his hands with relative grace. 

“So,” he says after a moment, tapping one finger against the side of his glass. He can’t seem to think of anything else to say, though, his mind blank and fuzzy with something that’s just this side of anxiety; he opens and closes his mouth a few times, glances at Magnus, and says nothing.

“So,” Magnus repeats. He’s smiling a little, but it doesn’t quite look real, at least not all the way through. He looks — God, Alec realizes suddenly, he looks _nervous_. The amount of relief that floods through him at the thought probably makes him a bad person. “I suppose we have a lot to talk about. More than you realize, actually.”

Alec frowns. That… doesn’t necessarily sound good. Magnus sure sounds none too pleased about it, anyway, and won’t quite meet his eyes as he says it. “What do you mean?”

There’s a beat of silence, both of them standing in Magnus’ living room holding drinks they haven’t touched, not quite making eye contact. Soulmates. Alec feels the ball of nerves and worries and stress in his chest tighten. Then Magnus sighs and looks at him straight on, and smiles again, that same almost-but-not-quite smile. 

“It’s… different for warlocks,” Magnus hedges, in a voice that suggests he’s trying to pretend something’s not a big deal when it really is, like he’s forgotten that this is Alec, who — no matter how impossibly — knew him immediately and knows him now and will always know him.

“Different how?” Alec asks, and he’s all too aware that the frustration is bleeding into his tone even though he’s trying hard to keep it out. Maybe Magnus thinks he already understands, at least in part, what the realities of having a soulmate are for warlocks, but the Clave’s records on this sort of thing aren’t complete, and even if they were, Alec hasn’t looked. He didn’t look earlier in his life because he couldn’t have ever imagined needing to know, and he hasn’t looked now because of… well, this. Because of the way Magnus is looking at him, and the sheer intensity with which Alec wants to hear it in _his_ words, from _his_ lips.

Magnus takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes.

“I’ve seen in living color since I was born,” he says quietly. “That was the first sign, actually, that I wasn’t — normal. Human. But, since no one else could verify what I saw or didn’t see, they wrote it off as just an overactive imagination, or me not really understanding the whole concept. Later, when…” He gestures to his eyes, and his mouth twists. “As I grew, everything started to become more obvious. My mother became convinced that my eyes themselves were cursed. She realized that I’d been telling the truth all along about seeing color, but thought it was because I could never have a soulmate, because — because I was something evil. Because of who — what — my father was, what he did to her, what _I_ was.”

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, becuase it’s the only thing he can think to say. He gets a small smile in return — slightly bitter, but mostly just wistful. 

“I learned better in time, of course,” Magnus reassures him, reaching out to squeeze Alec’s hand lightly. “There was an older warlock, Ragnor Fell, who took me in, and who later became one of my closest friends. He was the first one to — to really explain it to me. It’s…” He hesitates, and Alec’s already-racing heartbeat kicks up another notch. “Alexander, I — I know I should have told you this sooner, and I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t. This has all happened so fast, and I —”

“Magnus, hey, hey,” Alec interrupts. “It’s been less than 24 hours, I think whatever it is is probably forgivable.” This time he’s the one to give Magnus’ hand a gentle squeeze, only slightly tentative.

Magnus shudders at his words, though, and Alec feels his heart drop in concern. 

“No, Alexander, you don’t understand, it’s —”

“Then _tell_ me,” Alec insists, and Magnus looks at him with fear and something else too, like fond exasperation.

“Alexander, warlocks are — bound together, magically, with our soulmates,” he says very slowly, as though expecting each and every word to be the one that finally sends Alec screaming off into the streets. “In ways that mundanes and Nephilim, and even other Downworlders… aren’t.”

 _Bound_. The word makes him shiver, though he isn’t quite sure why. “What ways?”

“Magically, and mentally, and… Physically,” Magnus admits, his voice very grave. “Our — when it’s two warlocks, our magical signatures blend, and no matter what race, our lives are literally bound together. I — I felt it happen, when I saw you. Like something I’d always been missing had finally snapped into place.” He smiles, almost despite himself, and Alec’s blood sings at the sight.

“What does that mean?” he whispers, eyes locked on Magnus’ smile, as he leans in closer. “We’re — we can’t be separated, or something? I — I don’t understand.”

“In a manner of speaking.” They’re back to deflection again, apparently. Beautiful smile or not, Alec could scream.

“ _Magnus_.” And he’s certainly not above begging. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Alexander, it’s just —” Magnus’ eyes are shut tight. “I’m absolutely terrified that you’ll hate me.”

His voice is low, and quiet and raw, like it’s being ripped out of him. Alec’s shaking his head and cupping Magnus’ face between his hands before he even realizes what he’s doing. 

“Magnus, no, I —” He laughs breathlessly, half-hysterically. “This might sound crazy, soulmate or not, because we’ve only known each other for a day, but I don’t think I could _ever_ hate you.”

It hangs in the air between them, desperate and vulnerable. Magnus shudders as the last bit of his resistance finally breaks down.

“Our life forces, if you will, are bound,” he says, “linked. As you die, I will die. And as long as I live…”

He can’t seem to finish the sentence, but Alec doesn’t need him to, and probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway over the blood pounding in his ears.

“But you’re immortal,” he blurts, the only thought in his buzzing head coherent enough to be spoken aloud.

Magnus laughs, but it sounds absolutely wrecked. “Yes, well. Now you are too.”

Immortal. An eternity, theoretically, with the man in front of him, who is still nearly a stranger, and yet who is more familiar than anyone he’s ever known — who is his _soulmate_. Something he never thought he’d get to have for even a _day_ , let alone… “I,” he tries, then swallows, then tries again. “I think I’m going to need — time. With that. But, Magnus,” he adds, seeing the fear still stiffening Magnus’ shoulders and needing to make it absolutely clear, “I’m not mad.”

He really, fully realizes that it’s true only as he says it, and really, fully realizes how badly Magnus needed to hear it only as he watches it slowly start to sink in, tracking every shift of emotion in Magnus’ eyes. 

“Well,” Magnus says after a moment, smiling at him softly. It lights up his whole face, and Alec feels himself relax a fraction at the sight. “I’m sure you probably have some sense of how glad I am to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, his own voice coming out quieter than he’d expected. It feels appropriate, somehow, like there’s some soft hush around them now that he can’t possibly disturb. 

There’s a heavy moment where neither of them says anything, and Alec catches himself trying to count the shades of gold in Magnus’ eyes and failing. Maybe he’ll manage it eventually, he thinks, feeling a thrill of something between terror and excitement, sometime in the suddenly endless lifetime stretching out before him.

“We should go on a date,” he blurts suddenly, and Magnus actually startles at the sound. He looks immediately pleased, though, leaning into Alec’s space just a little bit more, smiling up at him.

“That,” he says, “is an excellent idea. How do you feel about Ethiopian food? I know the most wonderful little place…”

He almost immediately launches into a description that’s miles beyond Alec’s culinary expertise, but Alec’s more interested in watching his mouth and listening to the rise and fall of his voice as he talks anyway. It’s really still too soon to tell where this whole thing will go, he thinks, and it really is going to take him some time — probably quite a bit of time — to come to terms with the fact that he’s apparently now _immortal_. He’s certain that hasn’t even really begun to sink in yet at all, and when it does, he’ll probably have at least one breakdown over it. 

But, in the meantime, Magnus is here, warm and effusive and so, so colorful. And right now, in this moment, Alec decides that that is much, much more than he could ever have thought to ask for. 


End file.
